Fire
by Rawrmae
Summary: David Karofsky is alone, and everyone seems to always take Kurt's side. But what about his own? One-shot. Set in Never Been Kissed.


He couldn't find it within himself to be attracted to those cheerleader mini-skirts. They hid nothing, shameless and utterly disgusting. That Santana girl walked past, and he - with all his might - really, truly tried to see the good side of how these girls dressed. But he couldn't. And on top of that, girls were entirely materialistic and self-centred, and he just couldn't understand the hype behind a girl's bra. It was just another piece of clothing, nothing more. Yet his fellow males were of the firm belief that a bra was something sacred, something to fear and something to conquer. As if it was a god or something.

He scoffed at the thought, when somebody finally caught his eye.

Standing in front of his own, David stood several lockers away from him, watching. He didn't understand why he felt compelled to even merely look at him, but every fibre of his being screamed at him to do so when he did not. It was a contradictory of values: feelings of opposition from every which way collided and clashed, baring his soul to inevitable torture.

How David had longed to utter those words that would free him. How he would venture into the very different worlds inside his mind, creating a safe place in which he could truly be himself. But this was not his imagination; this was reality. David was alone, and this was what he'd been reduced to doing. Standing isolated, left vulnerable and weak by the one person he thought would understand.

Of all the times he'd let his temper flare within him, there were a hundred more times of this overwhelming emptiness. David could feel it eating him up from the inside out. He would do anything to release this building pressure, but he also knew that everyone else would do anything to ensure it was firmly planted there again.

So now David watched - not so subtly - the red-leather-clad figure before his own locker. David could see the portrait of another boy stuck to his locker door. He was wearing a black blazer with red piping. A red emblem featuring a D was blazoned on the right breast pocket. The boy himself was incredibly handsome. A chiselled jaw, clean-shaven, dark hair carefully but tastefully gelled into a sort of attractive comb-over. His stare at the camera lens was penetrating. David himself could feel something shift within him at the sight.

Above the photo were cut-out letters from a magazine, spelling out C-O-U-R-A-G-E.

If only David had that now.

The photo and _that word_ felt as if they were purposely being thrust in his face, and with that, the fire in the pit of his stomach was burning up again. How dare Kurt so blatantly parade his _difference_ in front of everyone else? Why could he do that so comfortably, so freely when David had trouble merely looking at him?

David knew that that boy in Kurt's locker was somebody special, for him to give Kurt his school portrait like that. There was something sweetly intimate about the small gesture, and David was jealous. Where was David's intimacy? Where was this incredible confidence to be exactly who he was with the entire world watching?

Why couldn't he be like Kurt?

At that moment, a phone beeped and David watched as Kurt lifted his up to his face. Upon reading the message that had evidently popped up on his screen, Kurt smiled. But it wasn't just any smile. It was one that warmed his entire face, left the corners of his eyes to crinkle with happiness and one that seemed to cause Kurt's shoulders to straighten even more.

And then a subtle, rosy pink blush began to spread across Kurt's cheeks.

If he had to live with the humiliation of having to hide, then Kurt should have to live with his own. It was all David could do not to cry with frustration.

But suddenly the fire was too much to handle, to suppress any longer, and so without a thought's notice, he found himself bounding toward Kurt and his phone and his C-O-U-R-A-G-E, a fierce determination clouding his vision. And with all the strength he could muster, he shoved Kurt into the wall of lockers with his shoulder and continued past him as if nothing had happened.

And just like that, the red anger had ebbed away and it faded into something a little more subdued and a little more agonising. Inside, David was disappointed and viciously disgusted at himself. Outside, he kept his shoulders squared, chin up, jaw set, eyes ahead.

Even when he could hear Kurt's muffled cries behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

Yes, I never left. I was always here; it's just that my writing feeling hadn't shown itself for a while, and so I hadn't written anything in a while. That, and my last year of high school has left me beat.

But today I felt like being a little more productive than usual, so on top of actually _finally_ cleaning my room, I wrote this little gem. I was never really into Karofsky/Kurt fics, even angsty ones, but I felt compelled to write Dave's side. And so I did.

I hope I did Dave justice, and I hope you think so, too. Review and show me some love!


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